Chapter 5 Hot And Cold

Celeste – POV

The morning after the Rosenthal event, I woke in the cold silence of the East Wing with mascara still smudged beneath my eyes and the weight of emerald silk still clinging to my skin like a bruise. I hadn't unpacked the night before. I hadn't undressed, either. I'd sat on the edge of the bed for what felt like hours, reliving every brittle smile, every cutting whisper, every time Adrian's hand hovered behind me like a formality rather than support.

"Fine," he'd said.

I'd smiled at a dozen strangers, stood beside a man who couldn't name three things about me, and swallowed more indignity than wine. And that was the reward. Fine.

A silver breakfast tray waited by the door. I ignored it. A knock followed twenty minutes later. "Go away," I called.

"I'm not a maid," Ava's voice replied crisply. "Let me in."replied crisply. "Let me in."

I opened the door to find her in her signature black, sleek pants, blazer, white tank, not a wrinkle in sight. Her hair was in a braid today, her makeup subtle except for her bright red lipstick, her face unreadable as always.

She stepped in without waiting for permission and shut the door behind her.

"Marla's prepping the wardrobe for your next public appearance. Langley wants to discuss your revised staff schedule. And Adrian sent word that you're expected for dinner tonight."

I blinked. "Dinner?"

Ava raised a brow. "You know-chairs, food, two people sitting in cold silence?"

"I didn't realize we were doing... that."

"He's trying to control the narrative. Husband and wife. Unity. The usual."

"Is that what this is? Strategy?"

Ava gave a small shrug. "Everything is."

She turned to go, then paused by the door.

"You held your own last night. That matters more than you think."

Then she left.

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Marla arrived twenty minutes later, trailing her usual color and chaos like perfume.

"Sweetheart, you look like you slept through a hurricane," she said, sweeping into the room with a garment bag and a cheerful lack of subtlety.

"Thanks," I muttered.

She set her bag down and looked at me-really looked at me.

"I wanted to see how you were doing. You okay, pumpkin?"

I hesitated.

"No."

Marla nodded, lips pursing. "Good. You're being honest. That's step one."

She sat beside me on the bed and nudged my shoulder with hers.

"You did better than most would've. You were poised. Polished. That dress? A masterpiece. You were the only woman in that room they didn't know how to read."

"I don't want to be unreadable," I said softly. "I just want to feel real, to figure out some way to get used to this."

"Then hold onto that," she replied. "The rest of us will play the game for you while you figure out how to play it your way."

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Adrian – POV

She didn't come to breakfast. Or lunch.

Good.

I wasn't ready to deal with her or her antics.

The car ride home had been a disaster. I'd tried to say something that resembled a compliment. She'd torn it apart with surgical precision. And it didn't end well.

I preferred not to lose my temper, but there was something about her that got under my skin.

A man in my position was accustomed to being desired, the wanton advances of seductive women hoping to land a billionaire, but she looked at me like she saw through me, like she wasn't impressed, or afraid, or particularly interested.

I sat in the west library, the fire low, an untouched drink in hand, and watched the evening settle over the estate like ash. Gray and suffocating.

If she wanted to spend her time feeling miserable, that was fine by me. I had work to do.

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Celeste – POV

Dinner was at eight.

Ava didn't escort me this time. No handlers. No notes. Just Marla's parting words, "You'll have to leave this room eventually, y'know?"

The dining hall was nothing like I expected.

It was longer than it was wide, with a cathedral ceiling and walls paneled in dark walnut. Two oil paintings-one a storm-tossed sea, the other a stag standing in a wintry forest-hung at either end of the room. A crystal chandelier stretched the length of the ceiling, but only a few of its tiers were lit, casting soft golden light over the table like a spotlight in an opera.

The table Itself was a polished mahogany beast, flanked by sixteen high-backed chairs upholstered in navy velvet. Only two were set, one at each end, as if the emptiness between us was the point.

Thick curtains framed windows that looked out into the dark. No city skyline, no distant lights. Only the cold blackness of a world that didn't reach this far.

Adrian sat at the far end of the table, dressed in a black button-up and sleeves rolled to the elbow. He looked tired and sleep deprived, his otherwise handsome face pale and drawn, bags around his eyes.

Two place settings, soft candlelight.

A servant poured wine.

We didn't speak for the first ten minutes.

Then he finally said, "You hate this house."

10/10 opener. Definitely the start to a perfectly normal conversation. Then again, I was surprised he'd bothered to say anything at all.

I looked up. "I hate what it represents."

"And what's that?"

"Everything I had to give up to be here."

His jaw tensed.

"You knew what the arrangement was," he said.

"I thought I did."

We sat in silence again. He poured himself more wine, and didn't offer me any.

"You looked good that night," he said suddenly.

I blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"The dress," he said. "It suited you."

A pause.

"Better than fine?"

His lips twitched.

"Don't push your luck."

I sat back in my chair, surprised by the softness in his voice.

"You're hard to compliment," he added. "You act like it's a threat."

"That's because when it comes from you, it probably is."

He tilted his head. "And when it's not?"

"I haven't seen that version of you yet."

His eyes lingered a little longer on me that night. This time, it wasn't possessive, or critical. Only aware.

And I hated how much I noticed

.

When the meal was finished, Adrian stood.

"Goodnight, Celeste."

And I sat alone at the far end of the table, unsure which part of that scared me more. The fact that he was starting to see me, or that a small part of me wanted him to.